


Have Your Way

by septic_dr_citrus



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Begging, Blindfolds, Breathplay, Choking, Consentacles, Dark is Not Nice, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Ego x Reader, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Smut, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, aura play, pinned down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22481104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septic_dr_citrus/pseuds/septic_dr_citrus
Summary: There’s no escape from Dark’s clutches—this you’ve known since you first promised yourself to him. You accepted your life as a plaything for his pleasure—and if you happen to enjoy the harshness of his hands and the growl in his voice, it means he is allowing it.
Relationships: Darkiplier/Reader
Kudos: 89





	Have Your Way

**Author's Note:**

> People like you only want one thing...and it's disgusting.

There’s no escape. There’s no escape from Dark’s clutches—this you’ve known since you first promised yourself to him, let yourself be drawn into his tangled web of pride, manipulation and force. From the very start you set yourself up, accepted your life as a plaything for his pleasure—and if you happen to enjoy the harshness of his hands and the growl in his voice, it means he is allowing it.

A sharp gasp of exertion and some pain bursts out of you, fogging the mirror’s glass as he presses your face against it. In your crooked peripheral you can see him looming behind you, his grin savage, his eyes bright and cold.

“What would you have me do to you, pet?” he hisses, his aura swirling around him in shades of red that reflect on his sickly, silvery skin, creating an illusion of bloodstains. “Tell me again.”

“Anything,” you whisper the familiar, well-rehearsed answer, unable to draw a full breath with your chest against the wall. “Anything you wish. Have your way with me…sir.”

Before you’ve even finished speaking, trails of smoke are winding over your skin, kissing your face, arms and legs. The touch is cold, leaving condensation, goosebumps and short-lived bruises before making its way under your clothes. They never have been much of a protective barrier, but you’ve taken to wearing thin, skimpy fabrics as a sign of acceptance. His touch is welcome whenever he deigns to offer it.

Biting the inside of your lip, you shudder as the wispy tendrils slither along your waistline and down the seams of your thighs, squeezing and stretching the skin, testing its give. You ache under the applied pressure, suppressing a whine. Your inner thighs are still so sensitive, skin red, puckered and unhealed from the last time Dark dipped his head between them and snatched at you with his shark-like teeth.

It seems that Dark can read your mind; those same teeth are grazing over your neck and shoulder, only small nips for now, his breath hot and harsh enough to melt open your pores.

“Have my way with you…” he repeats broodingly, voice rumbling low in his throat. “Your body _has_ always been enticing…so pliant, so open to me.”

His aura curls, glides under your panties and swirls soft and ticklish around your entrance. One tendril thrusts shallowly, missing its mark, but you’re well aware that it’s purposeful. He never fully enters you unless you beg for it. Isn’t the wet heat of your arousal a transparent request? You’re sure he can feel it.

“Sir…Master, please, grant me this. Claim me. Make me yours again,” you plead softly, letting your legs ease further open so as to widen your stance. Again his aura thrusts, misses, and dips past your entrance to sidle up the curve of your rear. Weakly your hips buck, futilely trying to grind against it, searching for substance, and Dark merely chuckles at the effort.

You have no chance to look back and see if the laughter means he’s pleased. Only a moment later another swath of his aura is cast down over your head. It binds your eyes, pulls your hair at the roots and wrenches your head away from the mirror. As your neck arches you gasp, the last startled breath you can take before yet another tendril knots around your neck.

Reflexive tears burst into your blindfolded eyes at the sudden pressure, evaporating into the aura as you feel Dark’s hands grip your sides, fingers strumming down your ribs. He grinds against your back. His dress pants are slick and tight, the heat and outline of his length sharpening as he hardens. For a few moments you’re too caught up in that sensation to notice the tendrils at your entrance moving, but you wheeze out a hoarse cry as they finally breach you in a unanimous surge.

Longer, slimmer and stronger than fingers, they shunt in deep, tips clustering, catching and combing every bundle of nerves. None of them ever hit the same spot in succession; it’s icy hot, electrifying.

As you lurch with the impact, the wisp stroking your backside starts to force it open, digging in as far as it can, drawing out in a quick motion and then slamming back in, its rhythm counterpoint to those in your front. Back and forth, in and out—your body is a mere puppet jerked around by its strings, but the strings are tangled up inside you.

With each pounding thrust the one serving as your noose squeezes in tandem, forcing your throat to contract on nothing. You wheeze, chest heaving for air that it can’t find, spots dancing in your vision. The shrill ringing in Dark’s aura seems so much louder now, earsplitting, and his voice is thunderous.

“You are _mine_. Mine to use, mine to take as I please. You’ve always been mine! Your body is my plaything. Your mind is mine to break. You were made to please me. If we were ever friends…” A bitter, slightly winded laugh bubbles out of him. “It was because I wanted to use you from the start.”

The small fractions of air in your lungs are spent in weak, croaky “yesses” and “pleases” and “sirs”. The pain sings, the throbbing pleasure a heady drumbeat underneath it. Every three thrusts or so Dark’s aura goes entirely still and limp in you, leaving nothing but him. He ruts against you like a cat against a scratching pole—an animal and its tool to be used. Ironic, his next words:

“You pathetic, disgusting little beast.”

With that he unbuttons his pants and allows a release, his fluid thick and oily as it seeps down your back. You shiver dizzily, your consciousness wilting like a flower in the winter chill. You hold out just long enough to feel his whole aura squeeze. Pleasure soars through your body and then you’re gone, tumbling into the darkness.

When you faint Dark catches you, cradles you carefully as he moves you to the floor, eyes gleaming as they trail over your ashen features. They haven’t changed with time, he notes, lips thinning into a tight line.

You’re just his toy. A beautiful one…but a toy nonetheless.


End file.
